The Good Neighbor

by Amy Sue Nathan

  “She’s fine. She’s angry and hurt, but she’s fine.”

  “I saw the new Web site. And the advice column. I’m glad it worked out.”

  Silence.

  “Why did you let me in?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Chapter 27

  Olly Olly Oxen Free

  THE LOBBY AT SHADY Forest Retirement Village smelled like bleach and scalloped apples. It wasn’t a bad smell, just more institutional than residential. Until we walked into Mrs. Feldman’s apartment. Then it just smelled like home.

  In the two months since she’d moved to Shady Forest, I had stopped asking about her Elizabeth. She had stopped asking about Jade. I knew we both still thought of them all the time.

  Mrs. Feldman’s gaze shifted from me to her shelves, which were filled with photos and displayed the pirate box. “Let’s take a walk. I want to show you something.”

  Noah pushed the elevator button and we rode down to the second floor. The community room was dotted with card tables. The library had books and CDs, DVDs, and computers. Mrs. Feldman opened the door and led us inside.

  “I love having these computers right downstairs. Hi, Marv.”

  A man with his back to us raised his hand in a wave. “Hi, Deeny.”

  “Deeny?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Oh, never mind Marv. He’s a big flirt.”

  We settled Noah at a table with a stack of children’s books, intended for just such a purpose. Then Mrs. Feldman sat in front of a computer and pulled out the drawer with the keyboard. She typed with an ease that erased any notion of arthritis. Mrs. Feldman had made friends. Flirty friends. She was busy and happy. Ray had been right. About more than his mother.

  I scooted a chair close. I half expected Mrs. Feldman to click on my new blog, cleverly titled Izzy’s Blog. This was the one I started just for me, without fanfare or a fake name. I’d shown it to her in case she wanted to read it. She had. To date, Mrs. Feldman and Ethan were the only people to comment. That was okay. I was writing it just for me, as I should have been doing all along. I even showed it to Noah, although he didn’t read it. No secrets or lies.

  I’d learned my lesson. Deeply. I’d apologized. Sincerely. Now I’d transform my life. Purposefully. I’d do it without Mrs. Feldman next door, without contempt for Bruce, without Jade as my best friend. I wished some things were different, but I not only needed to move forward, I wanted to.

  “I wish I’d gotten to know Andrew better,” I said.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Maybe you should stop thinking so much. You’ll find someone, Elizabeth. Or someone will find you. Probably where and when you least expect it.”

  I was tired of the when-you-least-expect-it and lid-for-every-pot clichés, but just nodded. Then an unfamiliar Web site appeared on the oversize monitor.

  “Look. These are all women who gave up babies at the Lakeview Home. Some of us are looking for our children; some just want to know other girls who gave away babies. We share photos and stories. Some just want to talk about these difficult things with strangers.” I could relate. “We started an online support group.” Mrs. Feldman tapped her forefinger to her chest. “I’m the moderator. You see, Elizabeth? The Internet can be used for good.”

  * * *

  I didn’t know who was writing Pop Philly’s new advice column, but it didn’t matter. I had to send an e-mail of my own. To a stranger. An e-mail to a stranger that might end up public.

  Well, it wasn’t like I had to save face.

  From: Izzy Lane

  To: Ask Anything

  Subject: Desperately Seeking Jade

  Dear Ask Anything,

  Your editor, Jade, was my best friend for more than twenty years. I don’t know if you’ll publish this letter, or even respond, but I do know that Jade is likely reading all or most of the letters that come in. She’s hands-on that way, until she trusts you completely. The way she used to trust me.

  And that’s why I’m here.

  I made a mistake when I allowed Jade and my cousin to believe something—someone—and none of it was true. Then I took it further, way off course, by perpetuating the lie online. Crazy, right? I know.

  The thing is, sometimes we get lost in our own pity, and it’s hard to see through the muck. That’s when we do things we never thought we’d do, things we said we’d never do, things we’ve judged others for doing.

  I have to admit that aside from the fact that my best friend has cut me off, I have gained a lot from this experience, through my grave error in judgment. I have realized that I often don’t give the people closest to me enough credit. Had someone come to me with the same story—anywhere along the way—I’d have tried to understand. Why didn’t I know that others would do the same, especially Jade? I have also learned that it’s much harder to lie and keep secrets than it is to tell the truth. Even when the truth causes big, ugly problems.

  With those lessons learned, and apologies made, I just don’t know what else to do to prove to Jade that this will never happen again. If she doesn’t talk to me, how will she know? At least I can move forward knowing I’ve apologized again. Please tell Jade I keep buying Goldfish crackers, which I don’t like, and my son eats too many of, because I’m hoping that she will show up at my door. For the record, when she’s angry or upset, she eats them by the handfuls.

  I’m reading Pop Philly every day, and as always, I am very proud of Jade. Maybe I don’t have the right to be proud anymore. Pride connotes some kind of propriety; it’s felt by someone who’s emotionally invested. I guess I always will be.

  Thanks for your time.

  Sincerely,

  Izzy Lane

  My weeks without Noah started to pass more quickly, until the day he was coming home. Now Bruce would be dropping off Noah in half an hour, so it was crunch time. Literally. I had never been a fitness freak, but I figured forty was the time to start introducing my body to exercise. Plus, I was moving to a walk-up in a walkable neighborhood. I didn’t want the neighbors to think I was unfit in any way. I lay on my back on the floor, knees up, hands behind my head. One, two, three, four. Take a break. Five. Five sit-ups. Five was a good number to start with, I was sure of it.

  The doorbell rang. I’d missed hearing Bruce pull up and didn’t care that he was early. Noah was home with me for the next week.

  “Coming!” I yelled to the front door, but always forgot to ask if the person on the other side had heard me.

  “Welcome home!” I said as I pulled open the door. It wasn’t Noah. “Jade?”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no. Come in. I was just exercising.”

  “That’s new.”

  And so much more.

  I stepped aside and Jade walked in. Her steps were tentative, but they were steps nonetheless.

  “I read the letter you sent to Ask Anything. I read most of them.”

  “I figured.”

  “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, I’m here because of Drew. Andrew.”

  I gulped. I’d tried so hard to place him to the side of my thoughts, back behind the lessons learned, opportunities missed, and packed boxes. Now was she coming to tell me that I’d been right all along? That they were together? “What did he say?”

  “That I needed to think long and hard about what happened to decide if it was really worth ending our friendship over.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “And my answer was no.”

  No, she didn’t want to be friends—or no, she didn’t want to end the friendship? My mind jumbled with anticipation, fear, delight, and worry. Jade looked at me and shook her head, releasing me from my trance.

  “Earth to Pea—you mentioned something about Goldfish?”

  I ran to the pantry. “Yes! I have pizza, cheddar, and Parmesan, and even those new chocola
tey ones.”

  “I’ll take my old favorite.”

  I tore open a bag of pizza Goldfish and handed it to her. “So—we’re okay?”

  Jade tipped back her head, then stopped before lifting the bag to her lips. “Not yet,” she said. “But we will be.”

  * * *

  It was mid-July, the first time the temperature had poked above ninety with humidity to match. It was also moving day. Noah, with a snorkel mask perched on his head, walked with me through each empty room one more time. We pointed to each corner and counted one, two, three, four, as if we could inadvertently have packed one into a box. I memorized the outlines on the carpets and the walls made by furniture and photographs. I’d snapped pictures with my phone before the movers arrived, most photobombed by Noah, which would one day seem the perfect memento of our year. At the end of August, Matthew would move in for his internship at Jeanes Hospital. My nephew, the doctor, would continue the Lane tradition on Good Street, at least for a year or so.

  My new neighborhood beckoned louder than a smoke alarm. The Art Museum, Boathouse Row, the Barnes Foundation, and Kelly Drive, not to mention the Oval and Fairmount Park. Bruce had moved into his loft in May. My apartment was four blocks away on a tree-lined side street, a half block from Noah’s new elementary school. He already knew the fastest route between Dad’s house and Mom’s—in a car, on a bike, and by foot. A horn sounded and Noah’s eyes grew wide. His expectations held no melancholy. How glad I was for that.

  “Time to go,” I said.

  We walked downstairs, and I held open the screen door all the way and blew a kiss to Maya and Ethan. Noah hustled into the backseat with his cousin.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Ethan yelled.

  “I’m sure.” I needed to do this alone.

  One last time, I walked into my parents’—my—bedroom. Something onion-tasting—chive cream cheese maybe, from the night before, stopped at the base of my throat and then went back where it belonged.

  The windows were still open, the air was off. I leaned against the wall and looked out and up at the sky, cut in half by the telephone wire that had carried my teenage chatter. Then I looked down and watched Marina, the little girl who’d moved into the Feldman house—the Ramirez house—playing hopscotch in a pink bathing suit and then skipping up to our steps until she was out of sight.

  I was glad a little girl was in that house now. Again. Still.

  I walked through the other bedrooms again, gazed out the windows, then went back to mine. I leaned in and searched the empty clothes closet. I heard a tap-tap-tap on the wall and turned around.

  Andrew wore khaki shorts, leather flip-flops, and a vintage-looking Coca-Cola T-shirt. He held a blue container of salt and a loaf of bread. According to Jewish tradition, these were the first items I should bring into my new home. They signified that I’d sustain myself there. I hoped that tradition was on point.

  “The door was open,” he said.

  My throat constricted and then relaxed. “It’s been a long time.” More than three months, had I been counting.

  “You’re not an easy woman to find.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought you already moved, so I went by your new place and no one was there. Then I drove here, and up the street a few times, but didn’t see your car.”

  “It’s in the driveway. How did you know…?” Any of it?

  “Jade.” We said it at the same time.

  Andrew looked around the room. “Where’s your little pirate buddy?”

  “He’s a snorkeler now. My brother took him and my niece to lunch.”

  “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to bring you these.”

  “I thought you were angry with me.”

  “I was angry with you.” He swung the loaf of bread from side to side. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Jade said I needed to take my own advice and decide if what happened was really worth never seeing you again.”

  A gazillion points for Jade.

  Andrew walked to the middle of the empty room, footsteps light, but shoes flapping against his heels. He set the bread and the salt on the floor. I walked to him and Andrew slid his fingers through mine with ease.

  He squeezed my hand. Or I squeezed his. I wasn’t sure. Did it matter? And did all hands fit together this well?

  “I thought I’d never see you again, let alone be friends.”

  “I don’t want to be friends.”

  I pulled my hands to my sides and stepped back.

  Andrew took one baby step toward me. “I want to be more than friends.”

  My heart was pounding so loud I wasn’t sure I’d heard him, but it was time to trust my instincts. No more playing, pretending, or hiding. I had to be open and honest—with Andrew and with myself.

  “Me, too.”

  He smiled, sweet and broad, but then his mouth turned down, his expression pensive. Was he changing his mind? That fast?

  “I have to warn you.” He shook his head. I gulped, still transfixed, as my arms went cold, almost numb. “I kill at Chutes and Ladders. Not to mention Angry Birds.”

  Noah loved that game. The feeling returned to my limbs, with little prickles of hope. “I’ll just take you down during Pretty Pretty Princess.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything till you’ve seen me in a tiara.”

  I couldn’t wait.

  * * *

  Alone on Good Street for the last time, I sat on my top step, legs out in front of me. The hot, rough cement scratched against my little-girl, teenager, grown-up bare calves. I rubbed my thumbs along the familiar bumps. A new neighbor, one I’d never know, waved from across the street and I waved back. Marina splashed in her wading pool, her mother reading a magazine. A bus screeched to a halt at the corner. Horns beeped. Air-conditioner window units cranked, hummed, and dripped a steady beat. A potato-chip bag skittered down the sidewalk on a humid breeze, too fast for me to catch it. It was time to go but I stuck to the step as if I’d sat on a giant wad of bubble gum. Will Noah like his new school? Will my neighbors like me? Did I empty the fridge? Remember the keys? With one hand I grabbed the metal railing that had so often prevented my falls. I squeezed until it burned my palm and soothed my nerves.

  Then my childhood burst into my head and hugged my heart. Water from the hose. A Texas Tommy at the diner. Late summer nights on the steps. Unlocked front doors. Mom’s doctored matzo-ball soup from a jar. The smells filled my nose. The tastes coated my mouth.

  All the memories tethered me.

  And then they said, Let’s go.

  Acknowledgments

  The story in this book, as well as my own story, would be very different if my parents hadn’t moved to our Northeast Philadelphia neighborhood in 1969. Mom and Dad, I can’t imagine a better place for David and me to have grown up. Thank you.

  I am incredibly fortunate to have friends in Philadelphia whom I’ve held dear since before instant-access communication, when long-distance calls cost extra, and letters written by hand took days to arrive. These friends have rallied around, answered many questions, and appeased every writer—and every other—whim while I wrote The Good Neighbor: Joanne Beaver, Larry Blumenthal, Tom Brett, John Caruso, Steven Citron, Jodi Cohen Levine, Carole Farley, Diane Pascali, Sheree Richman, Mindy Saifer Cohen, Eric Schlanger, Scott Segal, and my sister-friend, Judith Soslowsky. Blakely Minton from Redfin shared her expert knowledge of current Philadelphia neighborhoods and real estate trends with graciousness and good humor.

  This book would not exist without Christina Gombar, who urged me to watch the 1945 film Christmas in Connecticut, which introduced me to the original Elizabeth Lane character, gently inspiring my own. Heartfelt thanks to Therese Walsh for challenging me to write outside my comfort zone. Alice Davis, Tina Ann Forkner, Fern Katz, Annmarie Lockhart, and Renee San Giacomo for reading and loving Izzy like I do. Renee Rosen for collaborating over four-hour “working” lunches. Lori Nelson Spielman, Pamela Toler, and Juli
e Kibler for friendships that go far beyond writing. Manny Katz, I’m sorry your title, or photo, didn’t make it onto this book cover. I still owe you one.

  To my Book Pregnant tribe, the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, and Tall Poppy Writers—your support is beyond compare.

  To the wonderful and loyal readers of my Women’s Fiction Writers blog, rest assured, every word there is true.

  I’m so lucky to have had Brenda Copeland, Laura Chasen, and the whole St. Martin’s Press team championing me (and Izzy) through every phase of this book. Jason Yarn believed in Izzy’s story from the first time I mentioned it. Danielle Egan-Miller, Joanna MacKenzie, Abby Saul, and Molly Foltyn adopted Izzy (and me) as their own. Ladies, I look forward to many years of crying over tacos with you.

  To the readers, book club members, booksellers, and librarians, notably Megan Millen of the Flossmoor Library, who asked for book two with enthusiasm. I am thrilled to finally share The Good Neighbor.

  And, of course, to Zachary and Chloe, I love you, and hope the message is clear. No matter where it happens to be, I’m always home.

  Discussion Questions

  1. It makes financial sense for Izzy to move back to her childhood home. But is there more to it than that?

  2. Throughout the novel Jade makes decisions without properly consulting or informing Izzy. What role does this play in leading to Izzy perpetuating her lie?

  3. Does Bruce have a right to demand equal custody of Noah? Would it be better for Noah to share equal time with Bruce and Izzy or to continue spending most of his time with Izzy?

  4. As Izzy contemplates Bruce’s influence on Noah, she recalls how her own brothers strived to emulate their father growing up, and the pride this brought to their father. How important is a male role model in the life of a young child? In the absence of Bruce, could Ethan or Andrew play the role of surrogate father to Noah?

  5. What effect does a new partner like Amber play on the development of a young child? How do you think Noah will feel about Andrew coming into his life?

  6. By the end of the book, Mrs. Feldman, despite her initial misgivings, seems happy in her assisted-living environment. Is it simply the change of scenery or does it have more to do with coming clean of her own secret?